The Poetical Works of James Beattie

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W. Pickering, 1831 - 239 pages
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Page xxx - O how canst thou renounce the boundless store Of charms which Nature to her votary yields ? The warbling woodland, the resounding shore, The pomp of groves, and garniture of fields...
Page 16 - In truth he was a strange and wayward wight, Fond of each gentle, and each dreadful scene, In darkness, and in storm, he found delight : Nor less, than when on ocean-wave serene The southern Sun diffused his dazzling shene.
Page 19 - O never, never turn away thine ear ! Forlorn, in this bleak wilderness below, Ah ! what were man, should Heaven refuse to hear ! To others do (the law is not severe) What to thyself thou wishest to be done. Forgive thy foes ; and love thy parents dear, And friends, and native land ; nor those alone : All human weal and woe learn thou to make thine own.
Page 22 - But who the melodies of morn can tell? The wild brook babbling down the mountain side ; The lowing herd ; the sheepfold's simple bell ; The pipe of early shepherd dim descried In the lone valley ; echoing far and wide The clamorous horn along the cliffs above ; The hollow murmur of the ocean-tide ; The hum of bees, the linnet's lay of love, And the full choir that wakes the universal grove.
Page 92 - AT the close of the day, when the hamlet is still, And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove, When nought but the torrent is heard on the hill, And nought but the nightingale's song in the grove...
Page lxviii - Thy shades, thy silence now be mine, Thy charms my only theme; My haunt the hollow cliff, whose pine Waves o'er the gloomy stream. Whence the scar'd owl on pinions gray Breaks from the rustling boughs, And down the lone vale sails away To more profound repose.
Page 23 - Crown'd with her pail the tripping milkmaid sings ; The whistling ploughman stalks afield ; and, hark ! Down the rough slope the ponderous waggon rings...
Page 60 - Was taught to modulate the artful strain, I fain would sing : — but ah ! I strive in vain. Sighs from a breaking heart my voice confound . With trembling step, to join yon weeping train , I haste, where gleams funereal glare around, And, mix'd with shrieks of woe, the knells of death resound. LXII. Adieu, ye lays, that Fancy's flowers adorn, The soft amusement of the vacant mind...
Page 7 - Him, who ne'er listen'd to the voice of praise, The silence of neglect can ne'er appal. There are, who, deaf to mad Ambition's call, Would shrink to hear th' obstreperous trump of Fame; Supremely blest, if to their portion fall Health, competence, and peace.
Page 38 - Hail, awful scenes, that calm the troubled breast, And woo the weary to profound repose ! Can passion's wildest uproar lay to rest, And whisper comfort to the man of woes ? Here Innocence may wander, safe from foes, And Contemplation soar on seraph wings.

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